“Yes,” Christopher replied, shaking off the somber mood of the poem.
“Colin?”
“Sorry, no money.” The young nobleman shook off the offer with a shrug but
hunger glowed fever-bright in his eyes.
“I'll pay for you,” Christopher offered.
Colin swallowed. “Very well.”
Setting aside their glasses and collecting their coats, they went out.
CHAPTER 3
W hat a tremendous crush. It will be difficult to find room to
breathe, let alone dance, in this environment. He took in the
sweaty mass of rarified humanity and sighed. The heat already clenched him like
a fist, despite the icy wind blowing outside. I hate this. Oh, for a smaller, more intimate kind of entertainment: a few friends, a good meal, some interesting conversation. At least I could hear the music.
Flickering gaslights in the room provided better illumination than candles, but the compressed carbide flames only added to the warmth. A bead of sweat dripped down his cheek.
Feet pounded on the polished wood floor of the ballroom as he picked his way around the edges, near the hand-painted wallpaper. Christopher had seen some terrible wallpaper commissioned by those whose wealth exceeded their
taste. In this home, an attractive pattern of the eyespots on peacock feathers embossed on a rich silver background embellished the walls from the polished wooden wainscoting to the ceiling. Christopher traced one oval with the tip of his finger.
It took Christopher fully half an hour to find his mother in the mass of milling, sweaty bodies. Had he been thinking more clearly, he would have found
her sooner. Wisdom would have dictated he look near the open doors to the balcony, where blasts of wintry air lightened the sultry atmosphere. Julia Bennett
stood with her back to the door, letting the wind ruffle her skirt.
A brown-haired woman beside her turned out to be one of her closest friends,
Colin's mother Mrs. Turner. After her marriage to Viscount Gelroy when she was extraordinarily young, she had remarried, not another nobleman, but a soldier, tossing her title away like rubbish.
Christopher approached. Tonight, his mother wore a lovely dress in a shade
of soft blue that complemented her rich, fiery hair. She had just celebrated her fortieth birthday and had a few silver streaks at her temples, a few crow's feet around her eyes, but that made her no less lovely.
Standing with the matrons was a taller, younger woman. This must be the one
I'm supposed to meet. She certainly looks Italian, with her dark brown hair. Her skin, a darker shade than Julia's, had a hint of warmth to its tone, which spoke of
foreign shores and stronger sun. She has quite a pretty face, he noted. Her nose was a trifle on the bold side, but not unpleasantly so, and her teeth flashed white
and straight.
He arrived at her side, and she met his eyes for a frozen moment. In that heartbeat of connection, Christopher discovered something extraordinary. She's more than pretty. She's lovely. Something undefinable flared to life between them, riveting him to the spot .
The young woman sucked in a breath and her gaze skated nervously away.
Her retreat broke the spell, and Christopher turned, masking his startled reaction
by feigning normalcy. “Good evening, Mother,” he said, kissing her cheek.
“Mrs. Turner.” He reached out to clasp her hand.
“Good evening, Christopher.” His friend's mother, who had always been
more like an unofficial aunt, greeted him warmly. “How are you?”
“I'm well, thank you,” he replied. “Your son sends his regrets.”
“I'm sure.” Disappointment tightened her face.
“Good evening, son,” Julia said, directing attention away from Colin's
hopeless mess. “May I introduce you to a friend of mine?”
“Certainly, Mother.” Christopher's gaze turned from Mrs. Turner to the
lovely woman his mother wanted him to meet.
